Entente
by Fic Me Up
Summary: "It's silent for another minute before she hears Benvolio's clothes rustle next to her. 'Did you ever love … him'" Rosaline and Benvolio reach a tentative truce, because the world will always be against them and it's time they stop fighting the inevitable. As the saying goes, keep your friends close and keep your … spouse closer. For reasons.


_A/N: Takes place in the future when they're married, of course. :) This was written before 1x05 so things are a little different._

* * *

She dips her finger inside the jam, watching the red color dye her skin like blood on a pavement. Rosaline examines it for another moment before popping her finger inside her mouth and tasting the jam, letting its sweetness consume her. There are several more pastries littered around the kitchen counter where she sits, each with a different and unique taste. Smiling, Rosaline stuffs her mouth with the half-eaten dessert, and eyes another one to devour.

It's become a late night tradition for Rosaline, sneaking down the servant's stairways in order to grab whatever dessert is left. When her mother and father were alive, she never sought out sweets as a child. Her parents touted her as a good daughter for not succumbing to the siren call of sugar, but she didn't realize how much she would miss the taste of sweet tarts and pastries until her aunt forbade her from eating so.

For three years, she and Livia ate food fit for a peasant, such as stews, bread, and occasional fruit. Yet as a Montague - nay, a _Capulet_ -Montague - Rosaline has access to so many sweets she feels she might faint. She feels naughty, tiptoeing across the house, but following the rules has never been Rosaline's strong suit.

Life as a Capulet-Montague is . . . strange. After their failed attempt to stop their marriage, things have only gotten more tense between them. Her relationship with Benvolio consists of bickering and pushing each other to the limit. Sometimes, their fights can start by disagreeing on which dish is the best, before it quickly spirals out of control and they begin to attack each other's characters.

She suspects he continues to argue with her because he needs to release his frustration, too. Their marriage is one of convenience for their families, and she's come to stop blaming Benvolio for something he had no hand in doing. As much as Rosaline doesn't want to admit it, they must work together in order to survive. They will always be punished for not being Juliet and Romeo, and not being united will only harm them.

Regardless, Rosaline's too stubborn to extend an olive branch to Benvolio, so for now, they'll continue bickering until it stops providing them an excuse to yell at one another.

Rosaline's so deep in her thoughts that she doesn't realize Benvolio has entered the room, confused by her presence just as she is of his. She stops chewing on the pastry, feeling awkward for getting caught, but her curiosity gets the better of her.

"I thought you had gone to bed."

He gives a tight smile. His shirt is untucked and he looks tired, probably due to running errands for his uncle. But there's something else troubling his mind, she can see it.

"Ah yes, my wonderful bed on the floor. I do enjoy having the cold bricks stab my back as I sleep."

(She refuses to feel guilty for making him sleep on the floor, because _he's_ the one who offered since the very beginning, back at the seedy lodge after their disastrous wedding day. But she also knows if she told him to join her on the bed, he would happily do so. And for some reason, the thought doesn't bother her as much as it should.)

Swallowing the remaining pastry, Rosaline lifts her chin in the air. "If you're here to -"

"I'm not."

"Oh."

He takes a deep breath before glancing away, looking like a small child in a room filled with adults. If Rosaline didn't know any better, he might be trying to escape some demons.

Or perhaps a few of his own.

"Are you . . . all right?"

His eyes snap up to hers, and she finds nothing but confusion stamped all over his face. And in that moment, Rosaline feels so _ashamed_ for making him think she didn't care for his well-being. She _does._ She's a good person who doesn't wish ill-will towards others, even if it's Benvolio Montague. Against her better judgement, she's come to worry when he arrives late, or when he's quiet and distant. She worries when his uncle berates him, because that means he'll turn to the cabinet of wine to soothe his heart. She cares whether he lives or dies, even though she's tired of caring.

Benvolio stares at her for a moment before looking down and shuffling his feet. His shoulders sag in defeat and he sighs, his eyes closing as he does so. For a second, Rosaline thinks he might tell her everything that's bothering him, but instead he walks towards her and grabs a pastry.

He doesn't eat it - only examines the handiwork of their cook - and says, "Not at this moment, no."

She opens her mouth to ask him if he wants to tell her what's worrying him, but Rosaline knows it's not the right time. Perhaps it will never be, but they've managed to spend a solid minute without name calling and bickering back and forth. Rosaline should let this odd moment pass by without disturbing their tentative peace.

Leaning against the counter, Benvolio finally takes a bite from his pastry, Rosaline following suit. They eat their dessert in silence, two battered souls trying to find a place in this world. She's uncomfortable by this normalcy, yet she craves it. She's tired of seeing everyone as the enemy.

It's silent for another minute before she hears Benvolio's clothes rustle. "Did you ever love . . . _him_?"

Glancing at Benvolio, Rosaline eyes him warily, her suspicion getting the better of her. His eyes are soft and searching under the candlelight, and it is then when Rosaline realizes there's no malice behind his question - he genuinely wants to know.

Taking a deep breath, Rosaline considers her feelings for Escalus. She loved him, once. Back when they were young and unsure of the future, but absolutely certain in their love for one another. But Escalus has always been a slave to his own ambitions, and as he went from forcing a union between her and Benvolio to becoming the worst version of himself in order to please his dead father, Rosaline realizes she will never love him. Not like this.

"I did, a lifetime ago."

"What changed?"

She ponders for a moment, unsure of how to answer it. There's a part of her wondering if it's wise to tell Benvolio the truth, but there's another part that knows he won't laugh at her answer.

"I . . . I think I was in love with the _idea_ of Escalus and I."

She doesn't say more nor does she feel like it, because it physically aches to admit that she no longer loves Escalus in the way she wanted to. It's taken many sleepless nights to come to this conclusion, and Rosaline mourns the loss of a love that had great potential. And she also mourns the part of her that believed in love, or at least its power.

"I'm sorry, then."

She scoffs, a little awkward that she admitted something personal to a Montague of all people, and a little suspicious as to why he's apologizing.

"What for?"

"For having to marry me when you loved another. And to have been betrayed by that person."

Rosaline's breath catches in her throat and she glances away, a rush of emotions making it impossible for her to sit straight. She maintains her composure as much as she can despite knowing Benvolio can see how his words affected her. Her _husband_ has proven himself to be much more astute than she realized, but he doesn't use her heartbreak to his advantage. And for that, she's forever grateful.

"Have you ever been in love?" Her voice wavers but Benvolio ignores it.

Shaking his head, Benvolio takes another pastry and toys with it once more. "No, not yet."

She feels sad for him, mainly because she can tell he's shrugging it off as if it doesn't hurt it to be in a loveless marriage. Rosaline suspects he's never had anyone truly love him and she pities him. At least she had Livia when her parents died, and even Escalus for a time, but Benvolio has no one.

Well, not in the way that he wants.

"I don't suppose _you've_ broken a few hearts."

He snorts and Rosaline finds herself smirking. It surprises her how easy it is to smile near him. "I . . . hope not."

"I'm sorry as well."

Benvolio's still smiling when he asks, "What for?"

She hesitates for a moment, but feels it's the right thing to say. "For having to marry someone you don't love whilst never having been _in_ love."

Now it's Benvolio's turn to look away, the weight of her words heavy on his shoulders. Yet, when he glances back at her there's a slight twinkle in his eyes, and Rosaline finds herself wanting to see that look over and over again.

"It could've been worse."

Her heart does a strange pitter-patter, and she does everything in her power not to let the warmth coursing through her veins absolutely consume her. What she's feeling is _dangerous_ \- it's never led to anything good. But there's a part of her that knows this is different, that getting lost in Benvolio's cerulean eyes and swimming in its depths until she's surrounded by it would be a welcome change.

The spell is broken when Benvolio takes a deep breath and steps away, once again twirling the pastry in his hands. "I think I'll retire to bed now."

She nods in acknowledgement as she tries to convey things are . . . different now after opening up to one another. They're similar people who always want what's best for everyone. They make a good team, and it's time they start acting like one.

"Till morning, Capulet."

Tipping his head towards her, Benvolio starts walking out of the kitchen when Rosaline feels the need to say something important, something that'll let him know she wants to move on from their constant state of bickering.

"Benvolio?"

It's the first time she's said his name out loud - the syllables roll off her tongue like sweet caramel, but it feels like she's been saying it for ages now.

He notices it too, but doesn't make a move to tease her. Instead, Benvolio's got a hint of a smile forming on his lips. His mood has shifted from being sullen to relaxed, and Rosaline hopes his good mood lasts till morning.

"Hmm?"

Toying with the hem of her sleeve, Rosaline chews the inside of her cheek before summoning the courage to look at him in the eye. She wants this moment to count, to be taken seriously. Rosaline's exhausted fighting with him over the silliest things for the sake of fighting - they're officially married and there's nothing they can do about it. It's time they start acting like it.

"Truce?"

For a brief moment, she's afraid he'll make her worst fears come true and laugh at her face when he stands motionless by the door. But he surprises her once again by giving a curt nod, softly saying, "Good night . . . Rosaline."

She can't help but smile, a little surprised by their ability to be civil for more than five minutes, and genuinely pleased they've managed to work things out for the time being. She hears Benvolio's footsteps leave the kitchen and echo down the hallway, and for a second Rosaline considers letting him sleep on the bed tonight.

Well, perhaps she shouldn't get _too_ hasty. After all, he's still a Montague.

 _Her_ Montague.


End file.
